Sheepskin
by Doktor Girlfriend
Summary: Metalocalypse. Charles has a dream sometimes...


Title: Sheepskin  
Author: Doktor Girlfriend  
Cast: Charles, Twinkletits  
Rating: PG-13  
Warnings: Rather bizarre imagery, a pinch of blood and gore, and hints of slash.  
Summary: "I have this… dream… sometimes…"  
Disclaimer: I do not own _Metalocalypse_. That's it. I've really got nothing else to say this time.  
Notes: As I was writing this, a mother dog and her weaning litter were being boarded at my house. I believe it was watching their behavior that first inspired this odd little piece. Many endless thanks to Rattie and Tracy for convincing me I wasn't out of my mind for writing this, and to Rattie again for the last minute beta.

**Sheepskin**

**By Doktor Girlfriend**

"I have this… dream… sometimes…"

Charles spared a glance at the man across from him, legs crossed at the knees, lounging back in his chair, and felt a brief surge of resentment for him, his casual attitude, his past actions, and the inappropriate sense of power he had over Charles right now. Admittedly, it wasn't as though he could really complain about the last one. No one forced him to come to these sessions. They were his idea. He set the schedule, and he could stop coming any time he chose. And while he was often tempted to do just that, he had to acknowledge that they were useful.

Sometimes he needed to talk, and it was Jonathan Twinkletits' job to listen. Regardless of how volatile the man could be (and he was much less so now that he'd learned his place), he wasn't one to judge and could be trusted not to talk.

"Go ahead," the doctor encouraged, lifting one mechanical hand in an urging gesture.

_'Robot_,' Charles thought idly and almost smiled.

"Well, in the dream, I think I'm one of the yard-wolves…"

"You're not going to rip my legs off, are you?"

"John…"

"I'm just kidding! It's a joke, ha ha! Go on, go on."

Charles sighed, eyes darting longingly towards the door. "Yes, well… Like I said, I'm a wolf. And I have a litter. …Five nursing pups. I'm their mother and their father. I bring them food, bathe them, and nurse them. And… it's very peaceful. …I love them. I'm happy."

He glanced up, waiting for a reaction or response from Twinkletits. Receiving an encouraging nod, he continued. "But then it changes. The pups are grown, bigger than me. I'm still caring for them, but… It's not enough."

His fingers flexed slightly against his knees. "They're too big to wash, but they don't groom themselves, so they're covered with fleas. They won't leave the den to find mates, so they… They, ah… take turns on me." That part had been difficult to admit, and he was grateful that Twinkletits didn't so much as raise an eyebrow. He went on. "They refuse to hunt, so I'm still bringing them food, but I can't bring enough to feed all of them. They're still hungry, and they roll me over and try to nurse. And when I don't have anything for them…" He wet his lips, locking his fingers together. "They tear into my stomach, and they eat me."

Vivid memories of the dream flickered through his brain. The plaintive whining of the small brown wolf as it was bitten all over by fleas; the sudden, heavy pressure on his back as the golden wolf forcefully mounted him; the sight of five bloody, gnashing maws tearing into his soft belly, devouring him…

"And how does that make you feel?"

"Angry," he offered after a moment. It had only been a few sessions since he'd stopped viscerally balking at that question. "Frightened. Betrayed. I gave them everything I had to offer, and it meant nothing to them. They sucked me dry, and when I didn't have anything left, they destroyed me. I deserved better than that." He glanced down at his clasped hands, opening and then locking them again. "But most of all… More than any of that, I'm sorry."

"Why is that?"

"Because I failed them. Because it wasn't enough. They were my children. It was my job to take care of them, and I wanted so much to give them everything they could ever possibly want or need. But I couldn't. I tried, but… it wasn't enough." He shut his eyes as if in shame. "I'm sorry I let them down."

Twinkletits chrome fingers tapped lightly on the arm of his chair. "Do you have other dreams like this?"

Charles lifted his eyes, and for the briefest moment he might have looked embarrassed. "There is... one more…"

Twinkletits nodded again, his eyes alert, his posture straighter and attentive, as if he would enjoy nothing more in the world than to have Charles continue. He was good at this, the manager had to admit.

"I'm the wolf again, but there aren't any pups. Instead, one of the grown wolves is there." He glanced quickly down, tugging on the cuffs of his suit jacket, adjusting miniscule imperfections and removing imaginary lint. "We've made a den on the grounds, and… well… It's ours. I'm its mate." He raised one shoulder in the barest of half-shrugs. "It's a nice dream."

It was a very nice dream. The den was warm, smelling of earth and straw, and he felt safe there, rolled into a submissive posture as the great black wolf approached, sniffing and stimulating him, gently turning him over. This time the pressure on his back was welcome.

He decided not to mention those details, along with the fact that he often achieved orgasm during the dream, or at least was left with a painful erection that had to be dealt with. It sounded strange enough as it was. Charles was embarrassed by the dream, its frank and obvious suggestions concerning his desires, the thoughts of fangs and cold green eyes…

Charles' face gave no hint of the direction his thoughts were taking. There was no glazing or darkening of the eyes, no color rising in his cheeks, no wetting or parting of the lips. But Twinkletits wasn't looking there anyway. He'd learned by now that what the manager was doing with his hands was a better indicator of what was going through his mind. He wondered if Charles knew he fussed with his sleeves when he thought about sex.

"Why do you think you have these dreams, Charles?"

Charles blinked once, his expression unchanging, his insides squirming in shame and guilty pleasure. The fingers of one hand curled briefly in a fist as he considered asking whether it wasn't Twinkletits' job to figure that out. Ultimately deciding it was too cliché, he offered as honest and evasive an answer as possible.

"I'm not ready to talk about the second one."

Twinkletits nodded, his smile a little too knowing for Charles' comfort. He felt the resentment flare up again, taking just a little longer to fizzle out this time.

"Fair enough," the doctor allowed. "What about the first?"

His hands lay open in his lap. He studied the palms, following the lines with his eyes, flexing them slightly to make them crease. He finally brought the palms together, letting out a sigh through his nose.

"I'm not an idiot," he began, defensive though he knew it was the last thing most people would believe of him. "I know why I dream this. I know what it means. I know what might happen. I know…" He paused, inhaling, struggling with the admission. "I know that I'm afraid that it will." He shook his head briskly, negating the last statement as quickly as he could. "But none of that matters."

The therapist raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

"It… just doesn't." He ran a hand through his hair, agitated, grumbling under his breath, his frustration with this entire process finally rearing its head. It took a little longer each time. He supposed that was a good thing, though it didn't necessarily feel like it.

He tried again. "What I mean is…" He sighed, pinching and rubbing the bridge of his nose, muttering a soft obscenity. "Fuck…"

"You're thinking too much again, Charles," Twinkletits admonished in his gentle voice, the one he utilized much more often since the man across from him had allowed him to continue both his profession and his life. "Don't worry about how it sounds, just say what you feel. Who am I to judge you, I'm crazy as hell!"

The manager peered over his glasses at the blurred figure of the doctor. That actually did make him feel a bit better. He nodded, returning both hands to his lap and folding them.

"Even if I know what it means," he started once more. "Even if I acknowledge it, even if I'm afraid of it…" He sighed again, shaking his head very slightly. "Even if I believe that it will eventually come to pass… It doesn't make a difference. It doesn't change anything. I'm not going anywhere. I won't leave them."

The doctor shifted back in his chair, rearranging his crossed legs. He didn't bother to ask what Charles meant by "them". "You seem very certain about that."

"I am," he asserted calmly. "I am very certain. I've stayed this entire time. I intend to stay until the end. I won't leave them, I won't betray them, I won't turn my back on them. It's my job to protect them." He laughed just a little, softly. "Even if they don't appreciate it. Or want it." He smiled fondly. "Even if they break my heart and rip me to pieces… I'll never leave them. I can't."

"Why is that, Charles?"

Charles closed his eyes, evoking the dream image of the wolf pups: five small, furry bodies curled next to his own, pressing close as they slept, seeking his warmth and protection. He held their trust, their safety, their very existence in his hands, and they didn't even know.

"Because they're mine."

He didn't open his eyes, and Twinkletits did not respond. For several long minutes the room was silent. Then the sudden piercing beeping of Charles' watch sliced through the tension, signaling the end of the session. Time to go back to work.

He rose from the couch, straightening his tie and the cuffs of his sleeve, smoothing down his jacket, adjusting his glasses. "Thank you for your time, John."

Twinkletits nodded, his eyes sympathetic as they followed the small man to the door. "You did very well today, Charles. See you again on Saturday?"

The manager paused, hand on the doorknob. "Yes. Yes, I think so." He nodded his farewell to the doctor, and left, the door clicking smartly behind him.

Twinkletits slowly stood up from his chair and crossed over to his desk, sitting down and taking out his notepad. He always waited until after Charles' sessions to make his notes. The little man would immediately shut himself off if he saw the doctor writing anything down during. When he was finished, he pulled open a drawer and located the file labeled "Ofdensen, C.F.", laying it open on the desk and tucking the new pages inside. From the drawer above that one, he removed a small locked box and likewise opened it.

Smiling, Jonathan Twinkletits stuck a tiny, crescent-shaped yellow sticker within Charles Foster Ofdensen's file, closed it, and put it away.


End file.
